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[Lucky]

A Cajun who died went to hell.

The devil assigned him the usual punishment.. .put him in the
mass pit where the heat was melting others.  The devil came back
sometime later surprised to find the Cajun just sitting around, not even
misting, much less sweating.  "How come you're not so much as sweating
here where everyone else is screaming for relief from the heat?"
   
The Cajun laughed and said, "Man, I was raised in the bayous of
Sout Looziana.  Dis ain't nothin' but May in Morgan City to me!"
   
The devil decided to really put the Cajun through it. He put him
in a sealed off cave in the pit with open blazes and four extra furnaces
blasting.  When he came back, days later, the Cajun was sitting pretty,
had barely begun to bead up with sweat.  The devil was outraged.
"How is this possible!?  You should be  melted to a shrieking
puddle in these conditions!. "   
   
The Cajun laughed even harder than before.  "Hey, man!  I done
tole you.  I was raised in Sout Looziana.  You tink dis is heat?!  Dis
ain't nothin' but August in Cow Island !"
   
So the devil thought, 'Alright, a little reverse ought to do the
trick.'  He put the Cajun into a corner of hell where no heat ever
reached.  It was freezing and to add to the Cajun's misery, he added
massive icebergs and blasting frozen air.  When he returned, the Cajun
was shivering, ice hung from every part of him but he was grinning like
it was Christmas.   Exasperated, the devil asked "HOW!?  How is it possible?!
You're impervious to heat and here you sit in conditions you can't be
used to...freezing cold and yet you're happier than if you were in
heaven.  WHY?!"
   
The Cajun kept grinning and asked, "Don't dis mean de Saints
goin to da Super Bowl?"

[jedishon]

I gotta pass this one on......Thanks

[tom cat]

Its a good thing to see the Ants do well, but I do not plan on being around my wife during the game. She looses it watching Dat Footsball on tv.

[Gumbo]

A Cajun who died went to hell.

The devil assigned him the usual punishment.. .put him in the
mass pit where the heat was melting others.  The devil came back
sometime later surprised to find the Cajun just sitting around, not even
misting, much less sweating.  "How come you're not so much as sweating
here where everyone else is screaming for relief from the heat?"
   
The Cajun laughed and said, "Man, I was raised in the bayous of
Sout Looziana.  Dis ain't nothin' but May in Morgan City to me!"
   
The devil decided to really put the Cajun through it. He put him
in a sealed off cave in the pit with open blazes and four extra furnaces
blasting.  When he came back, days later, the Cajun was sitting pretty,
had barely begun to bead up with sweat.  The devil was outraged.
"How is this possible!?  You should be  melted to a shrieking
puddle in these conditions!. "   
   
The Cajun laughed even harder than before.  "Hey, man!  I done
tole you.  I was raised in Sout Looziana.  You tink dis is heat?!  Dis
ain't nothin' but August in Cow Island !"
   
So the devil thought, 'Alright, a little reverse ought to do the
trick.'  He put the Cajun into a corner of hell where no heat ever
reached.  It was freezing and to add to the Cajun's misery, he added
massive icebergs and blasting frozen air.  When he returned, the Cajun
was shivering, ice hung from every part of him but he was grinning like
it was Christmas.   Exasperated, the devil asked "HOW!?  How is it possible?!
You're impervious to heat and here you sit in conditions you can't be
used to...freezing cold and yet you're happier than if you were in
heaven.  WHY?!"
   
The Cajun kept grinning and asked, "Don't dis mean de Saints
goin to da Super Bowl?"

 

[beaux43]

When pigs fly and hell freezes over...the "SAINTS" are in the Super Bowl!!!!!
Win or lose they are in; and the Cowboy/Vikes are sitting home.

Crap...a Viking All-Pro OL could not represent his team or himself for the Pro Bowl and got kicked to the curb for not showing up to practice and Romo threw and interception...hmm!   I seem to remember an interception in the Playoffs.
Hopefully, the weather stays cold through Sunday night so it feels like Hell is still frozen.         

[hooter]

When pigs fly and hell freezes over...the "SAINTS" are in the Super Bowl!!!!!
Win or lose they are in; and the Cowboy/Vikes are sitting home.

Crap...a Viking All-Pro OL could not represent his team or himself for the Pro Bowl and got kicked to the curb for not showing up to practice and Romo threw and interception...hmm!   I seem to remember an interception in the Playoffs.
Hopefully, the weather stays cold through Sunday night so it feels like Hell is still frozen.         

[ViciousNoob]

Better watch that "Who Dat?" a$$ or "Who Dat?" gonna be forking over a few $$$$ for NFL copyright infringement!!

http://sports.yahoo.com/nfl/blog/shutdown_corner/post/The-NFL-tries-to-claim-quot-Who-Dat-quot-from?urn=nfl,216965


Jeez! The poor fella's don't have much hope in the Superbowl....At least give 'em the rights to the 6 letters and a question mark!!! 

[jmdaniel]

Jeez! The poor fella's don't have much hope in the Superbowl....At least give 'em the rights to the 6 letters and a question mark!!!  

They've been given plenty since Katrina...







WHO DAT? YOU DAT!

 

[Lucky]

Have a friend from LA who supplies us with good reading material

Dear Miami: Get ready for the Who Dat Nation coming for the Super Bowl

By Mark Lorando, The Times-Picayune

February 01, 2010, 5:06AM


Dear Miami,

The Saints are coming. And so are we, their loyal, long-suffering and slightly discombobulated Super Bowl-bound fans.

While there's still time to prepare -- although a few hard-core Who Dats will begin trickling in Monday, most of us won't arrive until Thursday or Friday -- we thought we'd give you a heads-up about what you should expect.

First things first: You need more beer.

Yeah, we know. You ordered extra. You think you have more than any group of humans could possibly consume in one week. Trust us. You don't.

New Orleans was a drinking town long before the Saints drove us to drink. But it turns out beer tastes better when you're winning. (Who knew?) So let's just say we're thirsty for more than a championship; adjust your stockpiles accordingly.

And look. When we ask you for a go-cup, be nice to us. We don't even know what "open container law" means. Is that anything like "last call"?

It's Carnival season in New Orleans (that's Mardi Gras to you), and we'll be taking the celebration on the road. So don't be startled if you walk past us and we throw stuff at you; that's just our way of saying hello.

Oh, and sorry in advance about those beads we leave dangling from your palm trees. We just can't help ourselves.

February is also crawfish season, and you can be sure that more than one enterprising tailgater will figure out a way to transport a couple sacks of live mudbugs and a boiling pot to Miami.

When the dude in the 'Who Dat' T-shirt asks if you want to suck da head and pinch da tail, resist the urge to punch him. He's not propositioning you. He's inviting you to dinner.

And if you see a big Cajun guy who looks exactly like an old Saints quarterback walking around town in a dress ... don't ask. It's a long story.

We know that crowd control is a major concern for any Super Bowl host city. Our advice? Put away the riot gear.

Reason No. 1: Indianapolis is going to lose, and their fans are way too dull to start a riot.

Reason No. 2: New Orleans showed the world on Sunday that we know how to throw a victory party. We don't burn cars. We dance on them.

Reason No. 3: Even if we did lose, which we won't, leaving the stadium would be like leaving a funeral, and our typical response to that is to have a parade.

Speaking of which: If you happen to see a brass band roll by, followed by a line of folks waving their handkerchiefs, you're not supposed to just stand there and watch. As our own Irma Thomas would say, get your backfield in motion.

And hey, Mister DJ! Yes, we know you've already played that stupid Ying Yang Twins song 10 times tonight, but indulge us just one more time.

To us, "Halftime (Stand Up and Get Crunk)" isn't just a song; it's 576 points of good memories. It's the sound of a Drew Brees touchdown pass to Devery Henderson, a Pierre Thomas dive for first down on 4th-and-1, a Garrett Hartley field goal sailing through the uprights in overtime.

It's what a championship sounds like. You may get sick of hearing it. We won't. Encore, dammit.

Inside Sun Life Stadium, you may find your ears ringing more than usual. We're louder than other fans. Seven thousand of ours sound like 70,000 of theirs.

Don't believe us? Ask the 12th man in the Vikings huddle.

Some people think it's just the Dome that heightens our volume. But you're about to discover a little secret: We can scream loud enough to make your head explode, indoors or out.

It's not the roof. It's the heart.

Well, OK, and the beer.

Don't be surprised if there are more Saints fans outside the stadium than inside. A lot of us are coming just to say we were part of history, even if we can't witness it up close. The Saints are family to us, and you know how it is with family: We want to be there for them, whether they really need us or not. Because we know our presence will mean something to them, whether they can see us or not.

Come to think of it, seeing as how you're taking us in for the week, we pretty much regard you as family, too. So we're warning you now: If you're within hugging distance, you're fair game.

Hugging strangers is a proud Who Dat tradition, right up there with crying when we win.

Most sports fans cry when their teams lose. Not us. We've been losing gracefully and with good humor for 43 years. Tragedy and disappointment don't faze us. It's success that makes us go to pieces.

Hurricane Katrina? We got that under control. The Saints in the Super Bowl? SOMEBODY CALL A PARAMEDIC!!!

So anyway, don't let the tears of joy freak you out. We're just ... disoriented.

OK. Let's review:

Order more beer. Throw me something, mister. Suck da heads. Wear da dress. Stand up. Get crunk. Hug it out. Protect your eardrums. Pass the Kleenex. Hoist the trophy.

See you at the victory party.

Faithfully yours,

The Who Dat Nation